The Magic Born of Men
by YamiJessi
Summary: What could be left now, when so much has begun to fade. A glimpse of a different outlook regarding Boromi's desire for the Ring, and thoughts of what lies ahead
1. Amid the Stone and Rain

A/N: Whee, more LotR fan fiction, o.o this is getting to be a habit. *Laughs* 

Summary: Two men think back on what has come to pass and what changes it has brought into the world, and what has been lost along the way. 

Title: The Magic Born of Men  
Storyline: LotR  
Characters: Faramir, Aragorn, mention of Boromir  
Paring: None  
Rating: PG   
Series: One Shot  
Spoilers: Not any mentioned outright, possibly some implied for RotK

Archive: Let me know first, but most places are fine. 

Disclaimer: I only wish I owned them. 

The sky had chosen this day to pour down in a soft flickering of water, drops of silvered liquid upon stone worn weary by battles past, tiny streams dancing over the edges of gray only to leap wildly out into the empty air once more. Indeed, the sky was marred dark, clouds hung in heavy and dark, as though the evils of the past ere lying in wait to leap forward once again with vicious claws. It was truly a dark day, in many ways. And for the man whom others called upon as Faramir, the skies above only echoed his pains. The torrents of water fell upon his skin like a lost caress, he paid them little mind. His mind was elsewhere as he stood alone, looking out over a city he knew as home, a country he would have given his life for, and nearly had. But too long ago that was, and years had left him still young, but weighed with the troubles of men many years his elder. It was this day that held him hostage, each year it brought him out alone to wander streets empty, for solitude was his mask when such things plagued him. The rains though, they had held him captive instead, the rough downpour forcing him to keep near the towers under threat of a worse storm brewing.  
  
He did not mind, he cared little of the rain nor did it trouble him. In all truth, those waters were welcome, for they hid well the trails of salty warmth that trailed his face upon this day. If he could have he would have hidden himself away during the entire day and night, so deep was his sorrow. But in days such as these he was bid to remain safe unless stern change decreed. And such change was all but gone now. He was perhaps never fully a warrior as some were, but he still would never have turned from a battle if it were of dire danger to his men or the lands of his home. Now though, in times of peace, there was little to do but linger and watch the world change all around. He was not alone in that thought, but he was one of the few that would not voice it. For his mind was keen, and often he could see that which others could not, dared not. And his dreams were haunted by the past, and a yet to be he could not grasp. He found the thoughts difficult, at times painful. But fate chose this day to offer him some distraction from his musing in the form of a voice he had grown to know well.  
  
"You stand alone amid the waters, is it this day that drives you to such means for peace?"  
  
The tone was quiet, as was often the manner of the man who spoke. And Faramir found himself turning to the voice, quite the mess with hair plastered from the rains, clothing soaked, looking more like a man of the wild than a proper Steward of Gondor. Though he quickly guessed himself to not have been the only one driven to the outdoors this day, for his King was in similar states, drenched and silent in gaze.   
  
"Many seek peace this day my Lord, for it is a painful day in the memories of most who knew of my brother. And a dagger to me, one that inches deeper every day."  
  
He spoke with the formal air he was expected to, but it was quick to fall away. All too often it was too easy to look upon Aragorn as a close friend instead of a ruler and he spoke to him as such. The King seemed to not mind at all, for in truth he valued those who could look beyond the title and see him instead, and few did so these days aside from old friends.  
  
"Your brother was a great man, as are you, his memory shall live long. That is all any of us can hope for beyond this life." It was meant to comfort, but Faramir instead spoke quickly.  
  
"What do you hope for while still in this life my Lord?"   
  
The question was an odd one, and instead of answering directly Aragorn walked to the wall and cast his eyes downward over it, as though that piercing gaze saw beyond the stormy clouds and looked into what lay ahead.  
  
"It is all fading away, slow as the leaves turn to brown and then to dust, but just as surely." His tone rang with sadness, the same thing read easy enough in his soft eyes. Faramir puzzled over the question, a wise man he was, in his own right, but able to read thoughts he was not. Finally, he simply asked the question that burned in his thoughts.  
  
"What fades?"  
  
A long moment passed, and at first the Steward thought he had gone unheard, or perhaps ignored. Then, the once before Ranger turned and spoke, and this time his voice was heavy, as much so as the thick drops that fell from above.  
  
"The Ring was cast away, for the good of all, for if it were to remain doom would have settled over the lands. But we cast away something along with that dark trinket, and I just now begin to see it. Perhaps your brother knew then, perhaps that is why some part of him longed to keep the object, to use it, to protect it. He must have seen what was blind to my eyes even if he did not know it, for he knew well the way this world works."  
  
Faramir was almost startled, he had heard of Boromir's lust for the Ring spoken of only in hushed tones, in words of failure and weakness. Now though, to hear them spoken with sorrow, he could not understand what his King meant. He opened his mouth to speak, to implore over the answer, but fell silent. The man before him, back still to him eyes, continued to speak once more.  
  
"Perhaps he knew, in that dark shadow lay magic, even if it was born of evil. And we cast it away, now it fades."  
  
"The magic, the creatures of its pull, you speak of this, of their slow departure from this world."  
  
"Yes, and is it not true? Men have come to rule, to take their place, but at such costs. We were not wrong to destroy the Ring, it must have passed as such, but what have we left behind? The races I once knew well I no longer see, they have faded as well. In time there will be only our kind, and I know not then what lies in the future. Have we worked in vain then, for what is this world without it's mystical air? That is what I held hope for, a world for my own children that still held those things."  
  
There was that shimmer of deep thought, not hopeless, for Aragorn was never a man void of hope, but he was one who sought to find fault in himself if he could. It was a slight flaw, but ever present, fueled by his ancestors, even when he himself had achieved such great things.  
  
Faramir knew well that doubt, for he often found it within as well. And as he moved to the wall to cast his eyes over the world that lay before him, such a new place, changing even now, he dwelled upon the words. He wondered if Aragorn was right, he found it hard to doubt the man, the leader, the King he had come to respect so much. His eyes slid shut for a moment, praying to somehow pull forth the wisdom the man at his side so longed to hear. And at first he could find nothing save truth in Aragorn's words. Then, as he felt the rain run down his face, urging his eyes open once more it was as though someone spoke to him. It was not the shimmering speech that sometimes accompanied his dreams, no, this was far deeper, far wiser. He looked downward again, the rain had slowed and was drying upon the city streets. Before too long the people would begin to move around once more, to go about their normal tasks, and his mind was drawn to this.   
  
"There is still a great deal of magic in this world."  
  
He only uttered the words softly, but the King's gaze was turned to him as soon as he finished the statement, brows arched as though in question. Faramir frowned for a moment, then his normal ease of words came flowing back to him, for he was a very insightful man, just quiet in manner enough to not speak of his own keen mind often.  
  
"It is true, the grace of the Elven may have gone, and perhaps the forest no longer sings in voices one can hear, there is much lost, indeed. Yet, among men there is much to be seen. For, what else could it be but magic, true and strong, that gives men the heart to stand and fight, to want to wake in the morning, the joy of mothers holding their child close even as the pain of birth lingers. It is a different magic, one that cannot be seen with such ease, but it lies there none the less. Perhaps not a Ring of power, but in a way it is all the more powerful, for it has remained even after the loss of that cursed band of fiery gold. It is the possibility truly, that is where the magic lies, for we stand ready to change this world into a place where each man finds his own worth, and his own path."  
The Steward grew quiet, his voice degrees softer, some edge of pain to it.  
  
"And it is a magic all in itself that we can still lift our heads year after year when we have lost so much, a more powerful magic than any other could be."  
  
He fell silent then, words failing him as that acute loss bit into his soul again, even now, almost four years past and he still missed his brother as though he had only seen that boat born of his dreams sail away moments before. Aragorn too was silent, for there was little need for words, and none could truly express the thoughts of either of the men then. It was not a happy feeling that settled over the both of them as they stood motionless for a long time afterwards, Faramir's word still an echo as the last of the waters below dried away around them. That too was fading, but the clouds remained. And they would perhaps remain for many days, the yet to be still uncertain. There was still magic in the world, but neither had the heart to put trust into it just yet. That trust would come in time, and years down life's path both men would look back upon that day with memory not of that which they hoped to puzzle through, but with faith in words spoken wisely while the rain washed the world's sorrows slowly away, and when they were both older and wiser still, they would begin to understand.  



	2. A Cage Surrounds my Dreams

AN: And we shift focus a bit now, this time to those within taking shelter from the rain, Arwen and Eowyn. This is done mostly through Eowyn's voice.

It was a silly thing, to dream the dreams of Elves and warriors when one is expected to be neither, when one is expected for other tasks altogether. A strong woman, a true woman, and at times a foolishly bold woman, she was all of these in one. But, still a woman. Indeed did she know the thoughts and wanderings of women, though her heart lie mostly in battle she was no different than the others in so many ways. Powerful, true, all these things and more, they were spoken along side her name as though a prayer for things left not yet hoped for. A shimmering soul with faith in her own hand upon the blade, and that of others, all this and so much more. Yet, she dreamed of many things while her hand did not clasp the hilt, in her hours away from those bloody fields and empty roads. They expected this too of her, in a way, for she was prone to wild ideas, that is what made her a shinning star among her people. But, what comes to pass when stars grow dim, when that twinkling light is boxed away?  
  
She tried to not trouble herself over such things, even on this dark day when the rains outside poured down in nature's mourning. Many mourned the same, over a warrior lost too soon, years gone by seemed but days. It was a dark, dreary time that filled her with great weary thought. And it captured her dreams in a silvered cage, gray bars of iron rusting to jagged edges to trap her hopes behind those shards. This day, of all the days the year brought, troubled her the most. There was no peace, only the dragging of the hours through the broken morning and noon as the sky drenched the world outside in heavy rivers of liquid. It felt as if the entire world had decided to wash away this hour, and she could only stand by and watch the colors drain off into abyss. And amid it all she felt her throat tighten as she whisked herself away from the open window and back through the hallways.  
  
It was perhaps despair that edged at her soul, and good reason enough dwelled in her mind. In truth she could not claim to know well the man the world held sorrow over this day, but she knew those who were deeply pained by it. Even her own husband, wise and kind man that he was, was prone to hiding away whenever this date found its place before them once more. It was a deep worry there, for she knew the man to be sensitive and longing deeply for his lost brother, for the kinship the two shared, that bond never broken by cruel words from their father or months apart during battles. And she feared there was more that weighed upon her husband's mind than simply this, each year made him older beyond his years it did seem, she was watching him fade away as though his own cage had been constructed long ago and just now was the door being set into place. For all her wisdom in battle, her courage, her strength, this was one wound she could not heal and it bred agony in her soul.  
  
She knew he would seek council with the King, their friendship ran deep, and if any man could offer hope it would be him. She respected Aragorn for this much, for taking up the role he had not wished to, to take up the battle even if he felt doubt in himself. She was the opposite, she was ready to fight, no simple life for her, she was made for greater things. And yet, that was not true, for now she whiled away within stone walls while the world changed all around, perhaps her cage had been constructed of more subtle stone than she had expected. It was such a weary thought that she sought a distraction, her feet carrying her with mind of their own away down the hallways into one of the rooms that few ventured into, but her pace held no hesitation in step. A greater refuge one could not hope for than a place of memory. And this was the purpose of the room, to hold away important things in safe keeping. This was the reason she sought it, memory was often better than doubt.  
  
The trouble was, she was not one to fall into doubt with ease, stronger by far than that, the strongest in that aspect. But as she walked slowly amid the shelves and boxes, each holding some object of the past kept safe for those yet to be to learn and discover with wide eyes, she had to wonder. How had her dreams fallen away? How had she come to this, a life of bored comfort. Peace was a joy, to be certain, but a bittersweet one. And all the blood that once ran over the fields had washed way long past, still left to seep in her thoughts however. Would it haunt her forever more, or fade as well, as surely as those things all around had begun to do? Even she could not guess, nor did she wish to, leave such games to those better versed in them, her husband, or the King, even the few Elves that still wandered this place. For now all she wished was to lose herself in this place, and each object held a new meaning as her gaze fell over it.   
  
Paled armor, grown dull from lack of use, mocked her in hues of dusty grays, the refection upon the surface distorted. And she could not tear her eyes from it, it captured her soul in an instant and pulled her back to lofty dreams she once knew, when last that battlement gleamed in ebon, black as midnight and silver as blazing as cold fire. It was gone though, the luster stripped away, and she felt just as tarnished.   
  
"It is but a little thing, only a few years rest, there still lies the strength, only now under the surface." The voice was quiet, tones of perfect beauty to match the form, eyes of starlight and skin of milky snow, and Eowyn knew the being as friend and confidant as well as bride to the King. Though for a moment she wondered if the maiden spoke of the armor or of her. She turned her gaze towards Arwen, never failing to be caught by the grace in her form, as though crafted from ivory stone and glittering sea-glass with raven's silk to flow like a waterfall down elegant shoulders. It made the woman feel foolish and plain, but the thought was pushed aside as she turned back to the object, speaking of it as well as herself.  
  
"Too worn out for battle, too past the time of use, now it only fades, put away and forgotten, and for the best as well, it was not made for times of peace."  
  
"But there is still worth, even now, for it is steady and forever waiting to take up the old ways without fail. Steady and true, even now, and one could not ask for more."  
  
Arwen smiled softly, the expression one of deep reassurance as she regarded the other woman. She too had spent the day in wandering, mourning Boromir in her silent ways, leavening her husband to do as he wished. And no doubt he sought out his loyal Steward. They were two similar in mind at times, it seemed to her, and often she had wondered how deep their friendship ran. But, she troubled not over it, there were many who could hold part of one's soul, and may different ways of caring deeply and truly, she herself knew this well. Now though, her thoughts rested upon Eowyn, the brave woman who had taken up so much in an instant, there was much to be respected in this, and she deserved that respect. But, so much was changing away and little had passed within these walls, no wonder the woman had grown restless.  
  
Slender hands, dove white and like glittering porcelain, lifted to draw away the veiled hood pulled up during the short walk across the rainy path from one hallway to the next. The motion was slow, careful, as though that fabric of delicate pink would break apart under any touch. Her almond shaped eyes rested then upon Eowyn.  
  
"There is much still to be done, and I cannot say if this worn armor will ever hold the same purpose, but it gleams just as beautiful still, if taken under the care of the right touch."  
  
She stepped over to draw her palm across the tattered shield, moving away the dust to reveal the metal underneath.   
  
"It is only caged away, waiting to be set free once more, waiting for the moment to take flight."  
  
The words were so comforting that Eowyn felt her gaze draw away from the object, the image seemed drawn from her own mind, as though Arwen had read her thoughts over being caged away here. She looked then to the maiden she knew as friend and found a smile as radiant as the sun that had hidden from sight outside, starlight flickers of grace in those eyes. And as she stood there the shield was forgotten, though not the lesson, new paths may yet await even an old memory. And somehow, looking upon the creature before her a new light came over her soul at the understanding they shared, and it felt as though the door to that cage had suddenly been lifted away.


End file.
